


The Sneer of Cold Command

by valerienne (valderys)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Community: lotrpschallenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-22
Updated: 2010-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 11:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valerienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was after the second Oscar that Dom decided he didn't want anything more to do with Andy Serkis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sneer of Cold Command

**Author's Note:**

> Written for challenge #32 Poetry. I'm a bit mean to Andy in this fic, so to disclaim it, I am sure he is and remains lovely! This fic also owes a debt to William Gibson.
> 
> The prompt: Find a poem you like (or even one you don't like depending on the context of your story) and choose a line from it. You must include this line (and this line only) in your story. The line of poetry is to be used as dialogue, not as an intro or ending to the fic. The character(s) can be quoting the line of poetry or they can write it. You can't include the rest of the poem anywhere in the fic.
> 
> I chose 'Ozymandias' by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

It was after the second Oscar that Dom decided he didn't want anything more to do with Andy Serkis. Dom didn't know why he'd held on to the friendship so long. No-one else had managed it. From the unassuming bloke that Dom had known in New Zealand, with the wife and young family he'd loved, Andy had turned into a monster. Appropriate given who it was he mostly played. It scared Dom, seeing the change in him. Could that happen to anyone? Could it happen to him?

He asked himself that question again one night sitting round his pool, a few beers down, a few memories later. And he turned to Orli sitting in the sun lounger at his side, and put his chin in his hand and thought. Orlando hadn't changed that much. He's as big a star as Andy. Although, the more honest part of Dom whispered to himself, was that really true any more?

Orli – who was in LA for just a few more days before his next picture began shooting – could only take the scrutiny for a couple of minutes before he leaned over and cuffed Dom lightly round the side of his head.

"Stop it, mate. I don't know what you're thinking, but it's freaking me out. Stop giving me the evil eye and drink your beer. We're meant to be relaxing, remember?"

He gestured widely to the pool, and the demolished salad bar on the table, and the lights in the trees glinting off the still water. Dom thought about that. He knew Orli came to him to get away from it all, from the jet-setting, and the parties he was no longer interested in, and the bloody gossip about whatever-her-name-was, but still… If he wanted to stare at his guests, he could bloody well stare at his guests. He grinned at Orli and stuck out his tongue, who laughed.

"God, why do I bother. If I wanted weirdshit zen, I could have visited Viggo in his ivory tower, oh sorry, I mean ranch in the middle of nowhere. Come on, Dom, what is it? Tell me before I kill you."

Dom thought about the Orlando he'd first met, all gauche enthusiasm and reckless abandon, all fearlessness and energy. He thought about maturity and the man who needed to sit on the edge of his mate's pool in the twilight.

"I was thinking about Andy," he said slowly.

"What, Serkis? Why were you thinking about that little shit?"

Orlando ran his hand through hair still thick and brown, and Dom decided he didn't want to ask if it needed help to stay that way these days.

"It's just… We used to hang out a bit, you know? When he was in town. Here for an awards ceremony or whatever. But these days…"

"Look. It takes people that way sometimes. You know. Fame. Hollywood. Whatever."

"Yeah. I remember when you'd barely talk to us lowly tv stars, head so swollen you could barely walk through a door… Hey!"

Dom wished, as always, that he wasn't quite so ticklish as Orli launched himself ruthlessly at the other man, and nearly caused him to snort beer through his nose. Or worse still, spill it. They ended up in a heap on the one lounger, Dom's sides aching from laughter, the scent of expensive soaps and the almost citrus flavour of Orlando tugging at the back of his throat. He nuzzled Orli's neck for a closer taste, and felt lithe limbs wrap around his own. He sighed.

"But Andy…" Dom didn't want to leave it, although he didn't really know why. "I'd never have thought it of him. You know? He seemed too grounded for the Hollywood machine to get to him that way."

"Happens to the best of us, mate." Dom felt Orli move and rest his chin against his hair – what there was of it. He smiled against Orli's chest, as Orli continued, "You know what all the press have been saying, lauding him to the skies. 'Only he could bring so much pathos to his performance as Beast to Alex Astin's Beauty. Only the king of motion capture could have brought that level of depth.' Well, not that it's motion capture anymore – what do they call it? Digital performance enhancement? Bloody dangerous, if you ask me."

Dom could feel Orli tensing in his arms, and he wriggled a little closer to distract him. They all knew how dangerous it was. Dom was just glad that five series of 'Lost' and four series of its spin-off 'Found' had given him household name status. He could always find work now, if he wanted it. In theatre anyway. Where they still appreciated a flesh and blood performance.

"Look, I'm sorry I brought it up, all right?" He truly was. They got few enough chances to be together these days. Any of the Fellowship. "I was just thinking it's nearly awards season, and I was wondering if Andy was going to try and stay again. Whether I should let him. But he drives me insane when he does, with his name dropping, and his fucking airs, and his goddamn _pity_ that I'm not at the forefront of modern entertainment like he is. Like I care." Dom found he was breathing hard, and his hands were clutching at Orlando's lightly muscled stomach and leaving white marks. He consciously relaxed them and smoothed along the tanned flesh instead. He felt his hair gently stirring in Orlando's sigh.

"But you will, mate. Won't you? I know what you're like. A soft touch. Ow!" Orli chuckled after Dom stopped poking him. "I mean it in the best way. You can't bear to let any of us go. Not really. So you'll let him stay. Won't you?"

Dom watched the last of the light disappear into the magenta and orange of sunset, and thought about that. When did Orlando grow up to be actually wise? He hugged him closer, warm flesh snug and real against his own.

"Yeah," he said, knowing it to be true.

***

The debris of such a famous celebrity and his family 'just staying with an old friend' was strewn around the room like the aftermath of a hurricane. It made Dom tired just looking at it. He remembered what it was like to be on that treadmill - press releases and gift bags, junket itineraries and interview schedules. All mixed in with personal stuff, that almost hid Dom's own touches to try and make them feel welcome. The basket of fruit. The good chocolate. Proper PG Tips teabags imported specially from home – well, specially for him, but he didn't need to mention that bit. He was tired from smiling too much, tired from gritting his teeth in the face of arrogance, and had virtually decided his original decision had been the right one. He wanted nothing more to do with Andy Serkis.

But he watched the Oscars anyway, from the comfort of his currently empty living room. Ghosts of other ceremonies, and other times, skimmed across his mind, and the beer tasted of metal and rust, not the bright bubbles of champagne pouring endlessly in some golden memory… He inhaled deeply through his nose and consciously let it all go with his next breath. Years of meditation had to pay off in the end.

Andy was up for Best Actor again. Well, of course he was. It had been a while now since digitally enhanced performances were allowed to be included in the nomination list. But it had been a while too since Dom had paid that much attention to the whole propaganda circus. He sat up straighter on his sofa as the nominations were announced, surprised as all hell. Then laughed until he slid sideways down into the cushions as the winner was announced. Irony felt rich and heavy on his tongue, with the added flavour of mild guilt. He promised himself he would be very nice to Andy when he got back. Really very nice. Super nice, in fact. Oh, how are the mighty fallen.

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings…" he murmured, apropos of nothing, and then laughed quietly some more, as he watched Andy's face as the camera zoomed in. He really was a good actor, Dom decided, admiring his calm in the face of his collapsing career. But it wouldn't do him any good, now, would it? He'd be stuck like the rest of them.

Dom watched the acceptance speech for Best Actor with a smile only mildly tinged with reflective bitterness. The winner was articulate and attractive, and wore a Gucci suit. He thanked his colleagues, and his director, and he made one or two rather good jokes. But he didn't thank his parents, or his siblings, or his wife. Of course not. How could he? Along with the rest of the world, Dom watched and admired this first completely digitised performance, and knew that he saw the beginning of the end.

Idoru.

The future of entertainment.

 


End file.
